


My Best Scars

by ShortHand



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Last Jedi - Fandom, The Last Jedi
Genre: F/M, First Time, Light Bondage, Loss of Virginity, Making Out, NSFW, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot, Porn Without Plot, Sex, Smut, Star Wars The Last Jedi - Freeform, Virgin Ben Solo, Virgin Kylo Ren, Virgin Rey, Virginity, reylo smut, smutfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-26 14:25:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13237611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShortHand/pseuds/ShortHand
Summary: This piece used to be called "Reylo First Time". There's still no plot, but I thought giving it a more subtle title was called for. ;)Happy reading, ya filthy animals.





	My Best Scars

**Author's Note:**

> This piece used to be called "Reylo First Time". There's still no plot, but I thought giving it a more subtle title was called for. ;)
> 
> Happy reading, ya filthy animals.

Ben bends down, kissing Rey’s mouth deeply. Her lips are soft beneath his own, and her mouth tastes like salt spray and spice. He lets her pull him over to the bed, drawing him down to lie over her.

“Rey, I–” she stops his mouth with more kisses, her fingers winding through his hair. He moans.

“Rey, I have to tell you something,” he gasps, breaking away from her. Her cheeks are tinged pink, her lips swollen and red. Her ragged breathing matches his own.

“What is it?” she asks.

“I’ve–” he starts, swallowing slightly, “I’ve never done this before.”

She blinks at him, “No, of course not.”

His face grows hot and he pulls away from her, but she says quickly, “I haven’t either.”

She interlaces her fingers through his, her had small against his own, and draws him to her until their foreheads rested against one another, “We both know what it is to be alone.” She tilts her head up and presses her mouth to his eyelids, traces feather-light kisses down his jaw. By the time she reaches his mouth, he is trembling. “Is this ok?” she whispers. “We can stop.”

He shudders with pleasure, “Don’t stop.”

She loops her arms around his neck, pulling him to her, shifting her legs wider so that he can rest with his hips against hers. He feels himself go erect as her hips move against him, and she gasps. “Is it ok?” he asked her, concerned.

“Yes,” her voice is strangled, guttural, and she hooks her legs around his, pressing their bodies together as if she wants to feel every inch of him as much as he wants to feel her.

Her hands run down his body to his hips, and slide under his tunic. He lifts his arms up so that she can pull it off him, claiming his mouth again as she tosses it on the floor. She lies back down, staring up at him. He is reminded of one of their first Force visitations, when the sight of him bare chested had made her so uncomfortable. He smiles at the memory, “Couldn’t wait to get me with my shirt off again, could you?”

She laughs lets her hands rove along his bare chest, down his arms, his back. He lets his own hands trail down from her face to her waist. Even though she feels small under his hands, her strength reverberates through him.

Gently, he slips his hands under her tunic and lifts it up. Underneath she’s wearing a bandage that binds her chest. She scrambles to undo it and tosses both garments to the side. Her breasts are a marvel, high and round, her nipples peaked in the night air. He bends down to kiss her neck, letting his nose trail along the hollow of her throat. She moans softly, grinding her hips insistently against him. He smiles and continues his downward exploration, trailing kisses along her collarbones, down her sternum and over a breast. He pauses to take a nipple in his mouth and flicks his tongue around it exploratively. She cries out in earnest then, her fingers convulsing against his shoulders, “Ben,” she says, her voice urgent.

He nuzzles the underside of her breast, “So impatient,” he murmurs, and continues the downward path of kisses to the waistband of her pants. He looks at her for any sign of hesitation, but finds none, and holds her gaze as he slowly slides them off, tossing them aside with the rest of their discarded clothing.

She lays magnificent and naked beneath him, and she looks at him with such wonder, such trust. His gut clenches, and the thought clatters through him, unbidden, “I don’t deserve this. I am a monster.”

She sits up, grasps his wrists, “No,” she says, firmly. “You’re not. There is no one I would rather be here with, no one I want more.” She releases her grasp on his wrists and instead cups his face in her hands, tilting his eyes to meet hers. Her gaze is a fire, burning for him. Stars, she is so beautiful. “You are Ben Solo. You are mine, and I am yours, flaws and all.”

The kiss she gives him then is deep enough, strong enough, dizzying enough that time stops. Everything else falls away, and all that matters is her mouth against his, tongues gently probing, the feeling of her breasts pressed against his chest, her fingers knotted in his hair as she lays back against the pillow, her hands caressing his shoulders, her claiming him as he claims her.

He disentangles himself from her grasp, despite her noises of protest, smiling, and pins her wrists over her head with the Force. She watches at him, mouth parted, as he moves back down to her hips, strokes a thumb over the dark thicket of hair. She moans again and presses her hips up to meet his hand. He bends his mouth down over her mound and lays kisses there, letting his tongue probe and explore the secret surfaces of her, his tongue flicking gently over her entrance, and taking special care at one spot that seems to cause the most response. As he moves his tongue over her, he finds her warmer, wetter, her cries and movements became increasingly urgent, “Ben,” she whimpers, “please.”

He releases his mental hold on her wrists. He tugs his pants off, letting them too fall onto the floor beside the bed. She stares at his cock, tentatively bringing a hand to it, letting her palm run up and down his shaft. He shudders as her hand coaxes the sensitive skin, letting the sensation take him to a fever pitch, “Rey,” he growls.

He is over her, again, his hands braced on either side of her head. His cock is at the entrance of her, and he groans finding her slick. He pauses, “Are you sure?” he asks.

She hooks her legs over his hips, pulling him to her, “I’m sure,” she whispers, their eyes locked as he eases himself into her.

Her entrance is warm and inviting, but when he encounters resistance, he almost pulls out as she winces slightly, “Don’t stop,” she says, holding him against her. “Just wait a minute.”

He waits, letting her adjust around him. She runs her hands through his hair and kisses him, “Keep going. I’m alright.”

Tentatively, he moves inside her again, still encountering that resistance. As he eases in, however, it falls away. He brushes an errant strand of hair back from her face, his thumb running over her cheekbone, “You’re ok?”

She nods, starting to match the thrusting of his hips with her own. She grips his neck, brings her mouth to the shell of his ear, “Ben,” she whispers, grinding her pelvis against him.

“Rey,” he whispers back. Her name is the closest thing to a prayer he’s ever known. He braces one hand behind her neck, draws a breast up to his mouth, still thrusting into her. As he flicks his tongue around her nipple, he feels something change in her body. She goes taut, like a bowstring drawn so tight it has to be released lest it snap. She cries out his name again, and it is the sweetest sound he’s ever heard.

He draws himself back from her, bringing his hands to her hips. He lifts them up to match his own, letting her legs splay wide to either side. She tries to grind herself against him, but his fingers tighten, holding her in place. Some instinct tells him to move slowly in and out of her, and another, more mischievous impulse leads him to use his Force fingers against that spot that had so excited her when his mouth was on her. He watches her as he moves in and out of her, feeling the tension in his gut build as he feels her move along his shift. He can tell that she wants to move against him in time, to create more friction, but he continues to hold her. He drinks her in as she writhes beneath him, want building, back arching, her fingers clawing against the sheets. His muscles tighten in response to her.

“Ben!” she cried. He feels her contract around him, her hips breaking free to shudder against him, “Ben, yes! Yes!”

Her cries echo around the whole room. She still envelopes him, muscles shuddering wildly around him, head thrown back. Every muscle in his body thrums with her, with the wanting of her, with her wanting him. His thrusts speed up until he can no longer contain himself. “Rey!” he groans as he comes, pleasure sending a thrill up his spine.

Slowly, he starts to come back to himself, to the room, to the planet. He’s still inside her, both of them are breathing hard. “Rey,” he whispers again, releasing her hips gently down onto the bed.

He stays kneeling over her, watching her as her breasts rise and fall. Her face is flushed, her eyes glassy, lips parted, hair disheveled. Undone like this, she is extraordinary, the rawness and vibrance of her power enhanced. Something in his solar plexus collapses as he watches her. She is too beautiful. She had said she wanted him, flaws and all, but how could this flawless being ever want him? He closes his eyes, but visions of his own horrors play behind his eyelids, people he’d killed, deaths he’d ordered, lives destroyed, his father’s face, so surprised–

Gentle, calloused hands cup his face, and he opens his eyes. She’s there, kneeling to meet him, her gaze capturing his, “Lie down,” she orders.

He does, and she lies next to him, nestled into the crook of his shoulder. She rests her head against his chest. He can’t recall feeling anything more perfect or natural.

“I’m here,” she whispered. “I’m not leaving. I’m here with you.”

His free hand moves to her face, his thumb running over her cheekbone. He bends his head down to her and kisses her forehead, “You are perfect.”

They lie like that for a long time. In his blissful haze, he cannot say where waking ends and dreams begin.

 

********************************************************

 

The first thing she is aware of is the dull ache between her legs. It doesn’t hurt the way a bruise or a cut does, but it’s a deep, visceral soreness that accompanies an unfamiliar sense of satisfaction.

The next thing she is aware of is the small puddle of drool below her mouth on, to her mortification, Ben’s chest. He’s still asleep, his chest rising and falling in measured, even breaths. She looks up at his face, and her breath catches in her throat. He is so beautiful. Sleep sculpts his features with a peacefulness that she catches only flickers of when he’s awake.

Ever so slowly, she moves her free hand to wipe away the drool. He stays asleep (mercifully), and she returns to watching his face, drinking in his unguarded features.

Last night was perfect. Her body still feels languorous. But twice she had felt his doubts, not about her, but about himself. He is still battling the horrors of his past, his own belief that he is a monster.

She winces at the word, which she had hurled at him when they’d met. She’d been so frightened of him, unable to see the hurt, abandoned, terrified boy beneath the mask. Even though she knows he’s done terrible things, she also sees who he has become. He has found something that makes him want more, to be better. A thrill runs through her, “He found me,” she thinks.

He stirs. She wills herself to be still against him as he brings his free hand to her hair. Sleepily, he kisses her brow, “Morning,” he murmurs.

She laces her legs through his, “Morning,” she whispers.

His eyes open lazily, unclouded by fear or self-doubt. He shifts into his side, arms enveloping her. He kisses the corner of her mouth, “You are so beautiful.” He nuzzles at her ear, sighing heavily.

She snuggles into him, “You’re not so bad, yourself.”

He chuckles, arms tightening around her. His fingers wind into her hair and she feels her body respond to him. She arches into him like a bow, and smiles as she feels him start to harden beneath her leg.

She scans him, her eyes roving across his face. She finds him doing the same to her, eyes searching for any sign of doubt, of a reason to pull away.

She pushes him down onto the bed and straddles his hips, “My turn,” she says, her mouth quirks playfully.

He doesn’t say anything, just watches her intently as she shifts lower, bringing her mouth down over his cock. His eyes widen as she runs her tongue over its head, her hand stroking down the shaft. He groans, “Fuck, Rey.”

She smirks at him, then envelopes more of him in her mouth and continues to stroke him with her hand. Her other hand she braces against his hips, taking his trick from last night to keep him from getting the increased friction he clearly craves. He undulates underneath her mouth, his breathing becoming more and more uneven.

Finally, he puts his hands on her shoulders, “Wait,” he growls. He draws her up and turned them both so that his feet are on the ground. She eases herself down onto him, straddling him.

They press against one another, chest to chest, mouth to mouth, as he starts to rock against her. His hands brace against her, one at the nape of her neck, the other at the small of her back. She leans back, opening her chest up to him as she rocks against him, letting his hands support her free fall. He bends his head down and takes a nipple in his mouth, more confident now as he runs his tongue around it. She shudders and gyrates her self more into him, craving him deeper, craving more, a strangled noise escapes her throat.

She feels him smile against her skin, his tongue still working at her nipple. But then another sensation presses between her legs, the pressure of his Force intention against her clit, stroking and coaxing her as they continue to move in time with one another. Her fingers claw through his dark hair, her lips press against his forehead. “Oh, Ben,” she whimpers.

He growls in satisfaction and brings his face up to meet hers, “Rey,” he groans, kissing her, his hips pressing against hers, moving deeper into her. Her hands dragged down to his shoulders, convulsing as she feels her release buoy her up to the stratosphere, frenzied muscles firing around him. He is not far behind her, his fingertips digging into her hips into him as he comes inside her.

They stay like that for a long moment, foreheads leaned against one another, breathing hard and fast, faces hot. At last, he shifts her off of him, planting a kiss on her neck, “I’ll be right back,” he says.

He starts to pull his trousers on and turns away from her. She gasps. He whirls back toward her, eyes darting around for any sign of danger, “What is it?”

“No, nothing, oh, Ben, your back!” her face flushes deeper.

He tries to bring a hand to his back, but finds nothing, “What?”

“There’s– I–” she takes a deep breath, “I left some marks. My fingernails, I think.”

She pictures them in her mind, ragged claw marks that rake over his shoulders, and he smiles at the image, “So I’ll live?”

She rises and walks over to him, turning him back around, “We should put some disinfectant on them,” she says with what she hopes is a detached, clinical tone.

He looks over his shoulder at her and grins, “All my best scars are from you.”

Her heart crumples, and her fingertips lightly trace the scar that runs from his eyebrow to his chest. She gave him that scar, when they had fought on Starkiller Base. It seems so long ago, now, like someone else’s life.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

He nuzzles his cheek into her palm, his lips graze the inside of her wrist, “I’m not.”


End file.
